Frozen
by captainodonewithyou
Summary: Killian is Emma's only hope when she and Elsa are frozen in a cave. (pirate) I wrote this as spec last week and the episode did NOT disappoint.


He is petrified. Precious moments have come and passed since the call had reached David's phone, since he had watched his face grow paler as the hushed words from the blasted device traveled to his ear. He repeats back to him what is happening, and informs him of where Emma has disappeared to. She had gone after the wretched Ice Girl alone, (his bloody stubborn woman) and gotten herself trapped. She was somewhere near the edge of town, but she had failed to tell them exactly where.

David failed to let Killian speak to her, not out of spite but purely because the thought had not occurred to him. Killian isn't sure if that decision was for the better or worse, but he silently wished he could have heard her voice, to have the reassurance that she was at least _okay_. His mind begins to wander to dangerous places, images of her lying helpless beneath layers of snow and ice, skin pale, lips blue, her emerald eyes struggling to stay open… he shudders at these thoughts, as a chill passes through him. He swears he feels her pain, his chest tight and his heart thumping erratically, he feels how close he is to possibly losing her.

They have separated to search for her; David leaving him what he calls a 'cell phone' (Mary Margaret's, he presumed) which he places firmly into his palm, instructing him quickly on its basic use, informing him that his number was saved, and that if he found anything all he would have to do is press one button, and he would be in contact with Dave immediately. He finds it useless, though, another blasted device of this world. He tucks it into the folds of his leather jacket. Its purpose was not useful in aiding him to find Emma any sooner.

He finds a trail of ice and follows it for what seems like hours, yelling her name until he is throat feels dry. Even then he still calls out, weaving through the trees, despite being quite certain there is no way anyone can hear the dry, empty calls. His heart is racing harder now because he realizes she must be near freezing at this point, and he's going to _lose_ her and the thought tears at his insides and makes him nauseous and he cannot, simply cannot, imagine a world without her.

"She's trapped…" David muttered, after they had regrouped. Killian's valiant effort of searching through the woods led him nowhere_, _and this small (yet precious) information was the last_ thing _he wanted to hear after relentlessly ripping through the woods all day. His Swan was _still _out there, _and his worst fears were confirmed._ Killian's breath had caught in his throat… his thoughts immediately jumped to Wicked Witches and Boy imps and cursed kisses….They had fought through all these evils together, they had come out alive and _stronger _than before. Each new crisis bringing them _closer_ together, inch by inch_ until they collided and _by gods he was not, he refused to believe that this would be the end of their adventures, that this Ice Girl would bring an end to his strong savior.

"What the bloody hell are we standing around for, then?" his voice had come out sharp and clipped and far too weak for his liking but he had hardly found it in him to care, shifting uneasily from one foot to another.

"I don't know where she is, Jones," David snapped back roughly. Hehad the decency to look contrite when he caught his eyes. They had gathered a crowd at Granny's by then, curious onlookers (who Killian was quite certain would be of no bloody use in rescuing her). "She said something about the outskirts of town, but it was hard to tell. The reception was awful. She's… she said there was ice. It caved her in, or something, hell if I know. I don't know how long she's been there, but… she isn't dressed for the cold, Hook."

"She's freezing to death," the words slip past his lips before he can process them. He desperately wishes to have them return to just thoughts, but _now this is real and this is happening and the probability of losing her has grown extensively since his first search._ The whispers around him blend together, gasps and gossip of the 'savior in danger' are fueling his drive, he _must find her. _

Time is ticking.

He is far beyond frantic by now, shifting from his brisk walk to a jolting run. There are rocks in the distance, and he thinks vaguely that there must, there simply must, be something there. He does not notice the chill creeping beneath his waving coat.

"Over here!" a woman's voice yells—a voice that most certainly is not Emma's and for a moment he thinks of ignoring it in favor of her. But that is when he sees the ice.

It is creeping up the crevice between where the two mighty rocks meet (if they can even be called that—he thinks they are closer to small mountains), and there is certainly enough room for a body (or two) to be captured beneath.

His heart stutters as he stumbles up to the ice and rests a shaking hand upon the cool crystal surface. It's as near a cave in as he knows, and he does know, having lost many a man to the caves of Neverland.

"Emma!" he calls, and although his voice is breaking apart it manages a single echo back to him.

Silence answers his cry and he growls in frustration, fingers burning against the ice until—

"Killian."

Her voice is quiet yet unmistakable and he feels every ounce of restraint leave his body as he grabs fruitlessly at the ice, trying to loosen it.

"I'm here," he tells her, as he takes a swing at the damned ice with his hook. It frees the slightest spray of ice chips. Encouraged he tries again, "I'm here, Emma," the relief in his gut is short-lived, though, it quickly becoming apparent to him that this is no ordinary ice. "Are you alright? Gods, you must be bloody freezing."

He returns to grabbing at the blocks with his hand, scraping into it again and again, until his fingers are bleeding and his heart is racing because she is right there in front of him and he cannot save her.

"I'm f-f-fine, Killian," she stutters after a moment, and he can hear the chattering of her teeth, "I'm alr-r-right."

She's lying to him**,** and he aches to take her in his arms and rub the chill from her bones.

"Keep speaking to me, love," he begs, turning on his heel to look for something else, anything else, a stone, a log…

"She… she isn't alone."

It's the voice that called out earlier, and he stiffens.

"It's my fault we're stuck," the voice continues, and somehow the tone assures him that she is nothing to fear—merely a girl, scared and lost. "I'm a monster."

He ignores her sentiments, instead grabbing at a stone on the forest floor and returning to dig again at the ice.

"Can you do me any good by assisting me in my rescue?" he asks, trying to keep a cool head. Losing control will do Emma no good, he reminds himself again and again.

"I-I can't… nothing. I'm so sorry," the girl is scared but clearly not cold, "I just keep making more ice if I try."

Keeping calm is becoming harder by the moment, frustration bubbling past the tipping point. He lashes out, kicking the wall with everything he's has. The pain shoots straight up his leg, and the buggering wall doesn't budge.

"Emma, love, are you still there?" The franticness is creeping into his tone, and a stretching pause occurs before she manages to reply, making his heart ache in his chest.

"Mmm." She hums in response, barely above a whisper. He strains to hear it, but _he does_ and the weakness laced in her mutter drives him to claw wildly at the wall separating them.

"Darling, I cannot help. I can't… I can't break through," he is again clutching at the ice with his now numb hand, the closest he can get to her. "Love, have you tried your magic?"

Her silence is all the answer he needs, and a flicker of hope blessedly relights.

"Emma, please. I believe in you. You can break through—you're the only one who can break through." When silence is the only answer he tries again.

"Only you save you, if I recall?" He continues, encouraging that fight in her to build strength in her chilled can hear the pounding of his heart in his head and time stretches out as he waits for a response.

"I'm n-not sure I c-can," her voice is so quiet, too quiet and he presses closer to the ice.

"_Emma_."

The ice beneath his hand has reached the point beyond cold, where it begins to be mistaken forwarmth. He wonders if Emma feels the same burning numbness. He drops his forehead to the ice wall, suddenly overcome with disabling exhaustion at his defeat.  
>And then his forehead is warm too.<p>

He lifts his head quickly, taking a step away from the wall and eyes it warily, It is glowing with golden light, and tendrils of water begin to _drip, drip, drip_.

"You're doing it, Swan!" He shouts excitedly, and returns to digging his hook into the now weak ice. A chunk falls free (close to landing on his aching foot and he's quite glad when it doesn't) and he can _see her _now.

She is curled in on herself; ghostly white, shaking and so, so small. Golden tresses sticking to her face and splayed about her. The other woman, another blonde in a sparkling blue dress is huddled in the back corner, as far from Emma and the wall as she can get. But he only gives her a moments glance, shattering through the rest of the wall (with the assistance of the golden light Emma somehow provides) and falls unceremoniously to his knees besides her, pulling her weak form to his chest and half wrapping his coat around her as best he can as he lifts her away from the snow.

She curls unconsciously into him, shivering uncontrollably and although his heart aches it is a bloody relief because she is _alive._ (It was only moments ago that he dared to think he might never be able to hold her again.)

He brings his fingers to her cheek, gently caressing her iced skin as he shifts her into his arms. He manages to slip off his jacket completely from his shoulders and drapes it around her. He is holding her too tight, he knows, but she isn't complaining and he can't let go. He finally settles with his sufficient wrapping and cradles her nearer to him, allowing himself to look down at her.

Her lips are pale and blue and parted, her skin bordering on translucent and Gods she'd been so bloody close. The thought shakes him and his breath catches audibly and her eyelids flutter. Sparkling flecks of ice sprinkled delicately across her lashes fall loose as she struggles to focus those green orbs upon him.

"I've got you, love," he manages through his cracking voice, and the corners of her lips quirk just slightly upward.

"I kn-new you'd come," her voice is still faint and shaky, but the ease is audible, "For once, I knew s-someone was going to come b-b-back for me."

Tears swell unbidden in his eyes and she is so fragile in his arms that it hurts.

"Emma, love—" he isn't sure what he was meaning to say, as her shaking hand snakes up into his hair, tugging him weakly down to her. He doesn't put up a fight, but why would he? How could he ever refuse her this intimacyon regular occasion, much less after nearly losing her. He allows her to guide him to her lips and kisses her softly and delicately. Her lips are cold and chapped and when he pulls back after only a moment, fearing hurting her, she gives him a quite steady smirk.

"Think I can't handle you, pirate?" she challenges with a meek half-quirk of a very icy eyebrow, followed by a frustrated nose crinkle at her face's frozen state.

He kisses her nose where the skin lines, and then her forehead, just above her eyebrow, for good measure.

"I think, love, that I need to get you back to town," he answers gently. She is still shivering and he unconsciously holds her closer to him. She doesn't seem to mind, pressing her cheek sleepily to his chest, above where his heartbeat has slowed to a gentle, normal rhythm.

He forces himself to tear his eyes from her, looking up at the Ice Girl who'd been there only a moment before… but she is gone, disappeared somewhere into the forest.

"Kiss me, Killian," she mumbles into his chest, and he makes the mistake of hesitantly meeting her begging eyes. Any resolve he might've had crumbles as her fingers (still shaking out of control) find purchase on his chin and play up his cheek. He gives a long-suffering sigh (one that he does not entirely mean), and impractical though it is, shifts her and bows his head to catch her lips.

His mouth feels hot against hers and it is as if he is breathing fire into her. She is mute at first, struggling to keep up with him but just as he begins to slow she's caught up and is kissing him back, hard, fingers tugging at his hair and foreheads bumping.

When they part, her lips are pink again and have formed the slightest of grins and his heart is pounding all over again.

"Thank you," she says, and he forces a teasing grin to his numb lips.

"For saving you? Because I was under the impression you would prefer to do all the bloody saving yourself."

Her expression softens and he swears he sees her eyes slightly roll as she snuggles into him, cheek back against his heart.

"No." She whispers in reply of his quip. "Thank you for always coming back for me, Killian."


End file.
